


Start of Something New

by Nymph3



Series: Dear Scorpius [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adopted Children, Baby Scorpius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy Speaks French, Draco Malfoy-centric, Family, Friendship, Gen, POV Draco Malfoy, Physically affectionate Slytherins, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Purebloods have pagan holidays, Tattoos, Yule
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29774334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nymph3/pseuds/Nymph3
Summary: Scorpius’s first Yule.
Series: Dear Scorpius [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181828
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Here’s part two, short n’ sweet! 
> 
> Also, does it absolutely IRK anyone else that the wizards supposedly celebrate Christmas? Like why? I don’t accept that. Muggleborns and Half-bloods, sure, but PUREBLOODS?? Nah. They do the old pagan holidays now. Cause I said so.

_ “Scorpius, NO!”  _

Draco scooped up his son from where he was about to pull on a tree decoration, which would effectively send the whole thing toppling if he tugged hard enough. Scorpius whined and squirmed in Draco’s arms. 

“I know, _bébé_ ,” Draco hummed. “But we talked about this, yes? You can’t go pulling at everything that looks interesting.” 

Ever since Draco had adopted him, Scorpius had been a very tactile child. He liked to touch and hold everything, especially if it was new to him. And, considering it was his first official Yule, that now included every decoration Tippy put out. 

It was fine before, when Draco could just pick him up and move him, but now Scorpius was learning to walk. They tried to keep things as far away from the floor as possible, but some things they had overlooked, clearly. 

Scorpius grunted and squirmed some more, before realizing that he was getting nowhere, and he finally settled down and pushed his head into Draco’s neck. Draco pressed a kiss to his son’s head. 

He was a little late on talking, but Draco tried not to worry about that, at least, not too much. If you were to catch him trying to get Scorpius to say ‘papa’ a couple times a day, well, that was none of anyone’s concern. 

Draco wasn’t initially sure he would celebrate Yule this year. After all, he always celebrated with his parents, later his mother, whom he had now not spoken to in about eight months. Greg wasn’t a big celebrator, and neither Pansy nor Blaise had ‘child-friendly’ in their vocabulary for holidays. (They barely had it for normal days, Draco had to have a conversation with them just before Scorpius turned one)

Besides, at the time, he still wasn’t quite sure which pure-blood traditions he was keeping. Yule and Samhain were deemed safe, as were Beltane and the solstices. Blood supremacy was _definitely_ out, as was the speciesism and house-elf slavery. 

This was a new chapter in the Malfoy family, and Draco was determined to make it a better one. 

Speaking of.

His floo chimed, and Greg stepped through. 

“Hi, Dray,” he grunted, before immediately reaching for Scorpius. “Hello, Scor,” He cooed, in a voice Draco had never heard him use until he adopted Scorpius. 

All of his friends had been a big help with Scorpius, but Greg especially seemed very attached. He was the least socially active among them, so he babysat the most, and he was by far the most child-friendly in his behavior, so Draco never had to worry about him being a bad influence. 

But above that, Greg just had a large heart, which Draco and the others used to tease him about, but now admired, and sometimes envied. 

He passed Scorpius over, and stepped back to summon their coats. “Don’t let him grab anything,” he called over his shoulder. 

“He’s still doing that?”

Draco hummed in confirmation, and poked his head into the kitchen, where Tippy was roasting the coffee beans and preparing all of their snacks for the coming week, as she did every Sunday. 

“We’re off, Tippy,” he said. 

She glanced up at him. 

“Would Master Draco like his dinner when he’s returned?” 

“No, Tippy. We’re getting takeout, remember?” 

She frowned at him. He tried to get takeout the day before any holidays, or holiday weeks, in this case, where she would have to cook more, but giving her a break only ever annoyed her. 

It had taken her a while to be comfortable expressing her opinions, but to Draco’s delight, she was having much less trouble nowadays. “We’ll bring you some pie,” he tried. 

She only frowned harder, but gave him a sharp nod. He only smiled. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Greg was the only one of them who owned a car, since he spent his time almost exclusively around muggles now. Scorpius’s car seat remained in there, as it took Draco, Greg, Blaise, and Pansy an embarrassingly long time to figure out how to use it, and by the time they were done, no one could be bothered to figure out how to remove it. 

Draco hated the things, (cars, that is) and spent the entire drive trying not to vomit, pass out, or both. It felt like an eternity before Greg finally stopped that metal death trap and announced that they’d arrived.

Draco glanced out of the window, and stared at the building that housed it. The muggle tattoo parlor. 

The idea of covering up his Dark Mark had brought up many conflicting feelings in Draco. It was Greg’s idea, back when the war was only a year before, and he’d gotten his first tattoo. It was a simple date on Greg’s shoulder, the day of the _fiendfyre_ , with the words, _Never Go Back_ underneath it. Greg went on to get a full sleeve of tattoos on his left arm, and brought up the suggestion to Draco about twice a year since. 

But Draco had never been sure. On one hand, he hated the thing. It was ugly, it was scarred, and it was _Him_. But on the other, Draco often felt he deserved it. It was his punishment for ever believing a fraction of what that monstrous hypocrite spewed. It was his penance for all the damage he’d caused, the people he’d hurt, the people who died because of him. 

But then again, his existence was already a reminder. The Malfoy name. The Black name. His face that looked both like a Black and a Malfoy. The scars across his chest from _Sectumsempra_. His own memories and everyone else’s. 

There was no way anyone would ever forget, much less himself. So Draco would do it. He would get it covered. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tattoo artist, like most muggles who saw it, thought that his mark was cool. But when Draco bluntly stated that he used to be a part of a violent gang, (his typical cover story) they sobered up and set to work, looking at his drawing for reference. The whole process took a few hours, and Draco heard Scorpius getting fussy on more than one occasion. 

“Alright,” the artist said finally. “You’re all done.” 

Draco let out a sigh of relief, and glanced down at it. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t the slight weight that eased off his chest when he saw the tattoo. The mark was covered, but not quite fully, and surrounding it were lilies, snapdragons, daffodils, and achillea, also known as yarrow. Weaved between them were thorny green vines. It was an odd combination, aesthetically speaking, but it came together beautifully, and more importantly, represented something beautiful. 

The snapdragons represented strength, and warnings against falsehood. The daffodils, new beginnings. The yarrow, healing. The lilies, hope and rebirth. 

Draco smiled, and blinked away his tears. “Thank you,” he whispered.


	2. The Winter Solstice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Solstice celebrations
> 
> Just short n sweet, straight holiday fluff with very little (almost no) dialogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am not pagan, I found everything off of googling Yule traditions and celebrations, and I took many liberties. If anything I mentioned is straight up false, feel free to correct me.

Draco loved Yule. Ever since he could remember, it was his favorite time of year. His past few Yules, however, something always lingered below the joy of the solstice. 

First, it was the Death Eater and Voldemort’s residences in the Malfoy Manor for three Yules. Then, he and his family were imprisoned by the Ministry for another. Then his mother’s house arrest for another two, where the absence of his father was felt on top of it all. 

And now this Yule, with him and his mother not speaking, and his father still in Azkaban. 

But it was Scorpius’s first Yule, so it must be one to remember. 

Pansy, Blaise and Greg arrived an hour before sunset on the solstice, and they all built andfitted themselves with the traditional crowns made of pine, fir and juniper. (Draco’s heart just about melted when he saw Scorpius in the miniature one Pansy put on him)

Just before the sun set they lit every candle in the living room, dining room, and kitchen. They left the candles on the Yule altar, situated on the fireplace mantle, for later. 

As the sun set, Pansy and Blaise lit the candles on the Yule altar, and Greg and Draco cast the appropriate spells on the Yule log. A Yule log, was traditionally supposed to be a tree, set to burn over the course of twelve days. But as time went on, that tree turned into a much smaller log, outfitted with charms to slow the burning. The moment Draco’s living room was cast in proper darkness, lit only by the candles, Draco levitated the log a bit above the low fire in his fireplace, and lit it. 

They stood in silence for a few moments, watching the first burns of the Yule log. Then Draco called Tippy, and they headed to the dining room for their Yule feast. Tippy had made them a large spread consisting of lamb, pork, wild rice, roasted Brussel sprouts salad with walnuts and cranberries, winter greens salad, stuffed squash, mulled wine, mulled cider, spiced cakes and gingerbread, cranberry and vanilla cake, and a variety of nuts, winter berries and cheeses. 

“ _Dray_ ,” Pansy moaned after they’d been eating a while. “Your house-elf is a gift from the gods.” 

Draco smiled, and agreed wholeheartedly. 

After dinner, Tippy brought out the cakes, grazing bowls of nuts, berries, and cheese, wine and cider back to the living room, where they stayed for the rest of the night. They took turns holding Scorpius, played a few childhood games, and exchanged traditional solstice gifts of homemade (or at least handmade) and often nature-based items. Scorpius was gifted some knit blankets and hats, as well as a winter baby oil. 

Draco received several natural self-care items from Blaise and Pansy: oils, soaps, and bath salts (“For your daily pampering, your bloody highness,” Blaise ribbed, referencing the lengths Draco has always taken in the bathroom compared to the rest of them, even given how vain Pansy and Blaise both were). Greg gave him a knit jumper. 

Eventually Scorpius started to doze, so Draco took him to bed, singing softly all the way. “ _C'est la belle nuit de Noël, La neige étend son manteau blanc, Et les yeux levés vers le ciel, à genoux, les petits enfants, Avant de fermer les paupières, Font une dernière prière_.” He removed Scorpius’s wreath, put him in his pajamas, and kissed his head. “Goodnight, _Mon_ _étoile_ ,” he murmured lovingly, laying Scorpius down in his crib. 

His friends stayed till a bit after dawn, as was tradition. Blaise somehow convinced Tippy to join them for a toast, before she retired for the night. 

They drank some more, and toasted some more, and laughed a lot more. When dawn came, Draco was left with exchanges of kisses to the cheek with Pansy and Blaise, and a tight hug with Greg. 

He hummed his way through his bath and evening routine, checked in on Scorpius to give him one extra kiss, and fell asleep almost as soon as his body settled into his Egyptian cotton sheets. 

Draco has certainly had some difficult Yules in his life, this time feeling both the uncontrollable absence of his father, and the purposeful absence of his mother. But he wasn’t alone. He had his friends, as always, and now, he has Scorpius. 

And Draco will try his damn hardest that Scorpius spends the rest of his life experiencing the amount of love, joy and appreciation that Draco felt on that winter solstice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Draco sings to Scorpius is part of a song called ‘Petit Papa Noël’ which translates to ‘Little Father Christmas’. 
> 
> Translation: 
> 
> Mon étoile: My star   
> Song translation:   
> It's the beautiful night of Noël  
> The snow spreads her white jacket.  
> And eyes raised to the sky,  
> on their knees, the little children  
> before closing their eyelids,  
> offer one last prayer.

**Author's Note:**

> I got the flower meanings off of Google, so if I’m wrong, feel free to correct me.
> 
> Also I know we haven’t interacted with the main gang yet, but don’t worry. They’ll be here. Eventually. 
> 
> Translation  
> bébé- baby


End file.
